Stone Cold (Camel Club 3)

They had landed, only momentarily, but enough to allow him to jump on the skids. As the chopper flew off, shots poured at them from the jungle below. Stone had run that night like never before in his life. Yet, still, he hadn’t been that far ahead of a battalion of angry North Vietnamese. It had been that successful assignment that had garnered the attention of the CIA, and resulted in his induction into the “esteemed group” of government assassins known as the Triple Six Division.

The Triple Six was a component that even most people at the Agency didn’t realize existed. They probably slept better for not knowing. Yet every “civilized” country had its assassins who did things to protect their national interests, and America was certainly entitled to hers. At least that was the company line.

Stone turned to another piece of paper with some names on it and a photo attached. They were Stone, Bob Cole, Lou Cincetti, Roger Simpson, Judd Bingham and Carter Gray. This was the only photo he knew of that had all six men in it. And it had only been possible because, after a particularly difficult mission, they had all gone out and gotten drunk as soon as the plane touched back down on American soil. As Stone looked into his mostly unlined face from decades ago, a killer’s confident face that had no idea of the personal hardship and loss to come, he felt a heaviness in his chest.

He squinted at the picture of the tall, elegant man that Roger Simpson had been back then. Simpson had never been a field agent; instead, like Carter Gray, he’d orchestrated the activities of Stone and the others from a relatively safe distance. He had gone on to the political arena where he was still tall, still handsome. However, the ambitious streak he possessed that had seemed a very positive attribute when he was younger had turned him over three decades later into a devious plotter and a man who never forgot a slight no matter how trivial. Not content merely to be one of a hundred senators, he desperately wanted the presidency, and had worked long and hard to win it. And when the term of the current president ended, it seemed that Simpson was indeed a front-runner to take his place. His wife, a former Miss Alabama, gave him a glamour quotient that the somewhat stiff Simpson could never have inspired himself. It was discreetly and anonymously bandied about that Mrs. Simpson didn’t really enjoy her husband’s company all that much. Yet apparently she wanted to be First Lady badly enough to play along.

Stone had always considered Simpson a weak-willed, backstabbing prick. That such a man was in position to capture the top office in the land in a few short years merely reinforced Stone’s already low opinion of American politics.

He put the items back in the box and returned it to the hole, setting the monument back in place. While he waited for someone to possibly come and kill him, he would focus on ensuring that Annabelle Conroy stayed among the living, even if she said she didn’t want his help.

He had lost his daughter. He was not going to lose Annabelle.

CHAPTER 20

THE CAMEL CLUB MET that night at eight o’clock at Stone’s cottage. As usual, Milton brought his laptop and pecked on the keys, while Caleb sat anxiously in a rickety chair and Reuben leaned against a wall.

Stone told them about Susan’s dilemma and also that she had left town.

“Well, damn,” Reuben said. “We never even got to go out for a drink.”

Stone explained, “Jerry Bagger probably killed those people in Portugal and left her partner for dead. She needs our help, but feels it would put us in too much danger.”

Caleb squared his shoulders. “She obviously doesn’t know that this group absolutely revels in danger.”

Stone cleared his throat. “Yes, well, my original plan had been to investigate this Jerry Bagger and see if we could work to have him put in prison.”

“A good plan in theory, but how do we do it for real?” Reuben said.

“I thought it might be worthwhile to go up to Atlantic City and check him out.”

Milton said, “Here’s a picture of him. The Pompeii Casino has its own Web site.”

Caleb looked at Bagger smiling up from the computer screen and moaned fearfully. “Good God, look at that face; those eyes. He’s clearly a mobster, Oliver. You don’t go and check out mobsters.”

Reuben eyed Stone. “It might be a little dicey going to his home turf.”

“It’s only for information gathering,” Stone said. “No confrontations at all. Just observing and perhaps talking to a few people who might be helpful.”

“But if this Bagger person finds out? He might come after us!” Caleb said.

“What happened to you reveling in danger, Caleb?” Reuben reminded him.

Caleb retorted, “This man kills people, probably for jollies.”

“The good news is you don’t have to go, Caleb,” Stone said. He turned to the other two. “I thought Milton and Reuben could do the first recon; that is if Reuben can get some time off from the dock.”

“I can always find an excuse not to go lug big shit off big trucks for not-so-big bucks.”

Milton said simply, “Sounds good.”

“Sounds good?” Caleb exclaimed. “Milton, this man is dangerous. He’s a casino operator, for God sakes,” he added in a hiss. “He makes money off people’s addictions. I bet he’s involved in drugs too. And prostitution!” He ended with a dramatic flourish.

“You need to be careful,” Stone warned. “No unnecessary risks.”

“Understood,” Reuben said. “I can pick Milton up in the truck tomorrow morning.”

“And while you’re doing that, I’m going to track down Susan. She’s checked out of her hotel, but I have some ideas.”

“So what am I supposed to do while the three of you are out gallivanting around?” Caleb asked.

“Just the usual stuff, Superman,” Reuben said. “Keeping the nation’s capital safe for truth, justice and the American way.”

Stone said, “Oh, Caleb, I need to borrow your car. I doubt Susan’s still in the city so I’ll have to travel.”

Caleb stared at him in alarm. “You want to borrow my car? My car! That’s impossible.” Caleb’s ride was an ancient pewter gray Nova with an eternally rattling tailpipe. It had more rust than metal, more springs than upholstery, no working heat or AC, an

d the man treated it as though the wreck were a vintage Bentley.

“Just give him the keys,” Reuben growled.

“Then how will I get home tonight?”

“I’ll drive you on my motorcycle.”

“I refuse to ride in that death trap.”

Reuben gave him such a ferocious look that Caleb hastily pulled out his car keys and handed them to Stone. “Then again, there’s nothing wrong with trying new things.”

Caleb said suddenly, “Oliver, do you even have a driver’s license?”

“Yes, but unfortunately it’s been expired for over twenty years.”

Caleb paled. “But that means you can’t drive legally.”

“That’s right. But given the seriousness of what we’re doing I knew you’d understand.”

Stone left Caleb standing there openmouthed and moved over to Reuben, who was motioning to him from the front door.

Reuben spoke in a low voice. “Carter Gray’s house was blown up with him in it.”

“I was aware of it.”

“I hope not too aware.”

“The FBI has already spent time with me. I went out to Gray’s house or what’s left of it with a pair of agents and Alex Ford and gave them the benefit of my thoughts.”

“Murder?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Reuben said, “This doesn’t have anything to do with, you know, your past?” He was the only member of the Camel Club who remotely had any knowledge of what Stone had done decades ago.

“I hope not. I’ll see you when you get back from Atlantic City. Remember, keep a low profile.”